Gret was instantly horrified.
He'd seen countless cases of patients causing a scene: from those who argued irrationally for four hours straight to those who carried funeral wreaths into the emergency room and burned paper money; from those who swung IV stands at people to those who drew knives and attacked them—oh, that last one, he'd only seen the aftermath, after security had dealt with the assailant.
But never before had he felt so close to death.
Blasphemy! The Inquisition! The stake!
On the first day after crossing into this world, he'd barely escaped one crisis, and now he was going to be burned alive?
Gret was sweating all over. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run. But when he saw the cold point of Roman Knight's sword and Captain Karen's pallid face, a surge of fury rose up and banished all his fear:
If you've got a problem, come at me! What's the point of pointing your sword at my patient?!
Gret sprang to his feet. His heart pounded violently in his chest, and he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. Before he could say a word, Priest Donald frowned and snapped beside him:
"Roman! Put your sword away!"
With his own priest speaking up, Roman Knight couldn't very well refuse. He gave a cold snort and slowly sheathed his sword, still looking unwilling to let the matter drop. Across from Gret, Young Priest John also stood, bracing a hand on the table and leaning forward, indignant.
"Gret can use healing magic! I swear by the God of War, I saw it with my own eyes today! You say you don't know him—how would you city lords know a servant of the Nature God?"
Gret: "..."
Seriously? Was the Nature God's church that poor?
A few more fragments of memory surfaced in his mind.
Gret shuddered and finally remembered why he'd thought the Nature God had no temple—
Because there really wasn't one. Unlike the God of War and the Spring Goddess, the Nature God had no temples. His followers would usually find a small hill, circle off a patch at the top with stones, and worship there. If there wasn't even a stone circle, they'd just find an oak tree and pray beneath it...
The priests of the Spring Goddess wore silk robes and rode about in carriages.
The Temple of the God of War stood behind the City Guard barracks. Its high-ranking priests all wore gleaming armor, carrying a shield in one hand and a warhammer in the other as they ran alongside the soldiers, looking even more like warriors than the warriors themselves.
As for the worshippers of the Nature God, they went about their daily business in drab hemp robes, carrying oak staffs tipped with tender shoots. They wandered from street to street, from the slums to the fields, then from the fields to the woods. In a word: poor.
Even the elders weren't much better off. Gret remembered someone gossiping that when the city lord summoned high-ranking spellcasters for a meeting, the elder of the Nature God's congregation had gone on foot, dressed in a hemp robe and carrying an oak staff...
No wonder his companions hadn't been surprised when he claimed to have received a Divine Revelation from the Nature God. They'd actually looked a little disappointed.
What parent wouldn't be disappointed to learn their child had joined a dirt-poor new workplace where even a promotion wouldn't bring much of a raise? Just like in his previous life, when his mother had felt torn between worrying about him and not wanting to oppose him after he'd landed a job in the emergency department...
Gret sank into his memories, a tender ache welling in his heart, until an angry shout jolted him back to the present:
"You saw him cast healing magic, and you saw the Nature God grant him a Divine Revelation? You say so, and that makes it true? Aren't you afraid of blaspheming?"
The shout made Gret jump. Roman Knight was half a head taller than him, with a rugged face and short, dark brown hair that stood up in spikes. His angry voice was especially intimidating. Gret instinctively shrank back, but before he could answer, Young John jumped in:
"And you say it isn't true, so that makes it false?!"
The young priest stood his ground.
One was a powerful knight; the other, merely a priest apprentice. But a knight from the Spring Goddess's temple had no authority over a priest of the God of War.
There was no reason to offend people for nothing. But when it came to defending a comrade, Young John argued with confidence:
"Gret has demonstrated so many unheard-of skills. How can you say that isn't divine inspiration? Can you be certain that the great Nature God didn't give him a revelation? Or are you doubting the Nature God's Divine Grace?!"
Scattered chuckles immediately rose throughout the hall.
The farm boys laughed and joked, the older farmers turned away to hide their amusement, and Gret's companions all grinned openly.
Unlike the Temple of the God of War, which had always protected everyone, and the Nature God's congregation, whose plainly dressed members often helped families treat their cows and dogs and taught them how to farm, the Spring Goddess's temple was full of "city lords." They were all airs and no action, and nobody had much affection for them.
Roman Knight's face darkened. Even Priest Donald looked uncomfortable. A knight and a priest apprentice from another temple could bicker and argue all they liked, but once they started accusing each other of blasphemy, the matter could no longer be taken lightly.
Priest Donald gave a soft cough, then rose with calm dignity. Smiling, he surveyed the room. The laughter gradually died down. He turned to Gret and leaned forward slightly.
"Mr. Nordmark, to be honest, I'm very interested in your healing magic as well. And as it happens, your companion is injured—"
He left his seat and led Gret all the way over to Captain Karen.
"I'm sure you'd very much like to heal him. Would you be able to cast healing magic once, so we can observe?"
"This..."
Gret hesitated. Across from him, the young priest called out again:
"He's already used it today! How could he possibly cast it again this late at night?"
"It's all right if you can't cast it tonight," Priest Donald said with an unruffled smile. "Tomorrow will do just as well. Just be sure to call me over when you do..."
The two men went on trading veiled barbs. Gret paid them no mind, his gaze unfocused as he tried hard to think.
Healing magic... healing magic...
How had he cast it?
Right. Back then, he'd thought, If only Uncle Karen's wound could heal a little faster...
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Gret adjusted his breathing and concentrated. He recalled how he and Uncle Karen had gotten along, summoning up all his feelings, then silently repeated the words in his mind, one by one:
If only Uncle Karen's wound could heal a little faster.
Still nothing... I really am hopeless at this mystical stuff T_T
Gret gave himself a thorough reproach and decided to return to rational thinking. Don't panic, he told himself. Let's analyze this. What might be the prerequisites for casting healing magic?
A target, a method, and a source of power?
First, the target: a strong desire. He'd probably met this condition, but since nothing had happened, it was necessary, not sufficient.
Second, the method: understanding the spell model. When he'd first cast healing magic, there'd been no spell model in his mind at all. So it probably wasn't necessary, at least for the lowest-level healing magic...?
Third, the source of power. If gasoline powered a car, and magic was powered by mana, then what powered Divine Arts...? Probably faith?
What was his faith?
"Almighty Nature God..."
He finished praying silently. Nothing happened.
The Nature God really wasn't paying any attention to him. That Divine Revelation had indeed been something he'd made up.
"By Apollo, Asclepius, and all the gods of heaven and earth, I solemnly swear..."
Nothing happened.
In the dim hall, only the torches on the walls crackled as they burned, as if mocking him.
Gret's forehead dampened with sweat. Why was nothing happening? Why couldn't he cast healing magic? Was it really true, as those Westerners said, that Chinese people had no faith...?
Impossible!
Chinese people did have faith! He had faith!
Calm down!
Think again!
What was his faith, after all?
Was it his country? His country was far away in another time and space, and he could never return. It could no longer be the force that drove him forward.
Was it Marxism-Leninism? He hadn't even joined the Party back then. His faith had never been that pure.
Was it his ancestors and history? Gret didn't feel that they had been what kept him moving forward, either...
Then what was it?
If he had faith, if he truly had faith—
Then it had to be healing the sick and saving lives!
Snatching one life after another from the brink of death, treating one patient after another;
One day shift after another, one night shift after another. Every time he was nearly worn to the bone, the sound of an ambulance would make him rally and rush into action again.
"Sometimes to cure, often to help, always to comfort..."
It was all the devotion and love he'd poured into his work since entering medical school: seven years of combined undergraduate and graduate study, followed by more than ten years of clinical practice!
Without realizing it, Gret raised his right fist beside his ear. He stared straight ahead, as if a brilliant red flag were unfurling in the empty air before him:
"My health is entrusted to me, and my life is entrusted to you..."
The familiar oath rolled over his tongue, one word at a time. Every syllable weighed heavily, as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Pure, abundant white light descended soundlessly.
At that moment, Gret's eyes filled with tears.
Before you continue